


The Dark Ones

by etherian



Series: The Dark Ones [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Flash Fiction, Mild Horror, Original work - Freeform, Short Story, mild lemons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:32:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherian/pseuds/etherian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humans do not fit into their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dark Ones

Elena was not what she appeared to be: a beautiful woman in her 30s with long and perfectly straight black hair, so black that in some light it had a deep blue shine to it. Her skin was English Pale, her cheeks brushed with an alluring Damask Rose, and her eyes of Mesmerising Cerulean Blue. Her frame was willowy, as though painted with the delicate strokes of Monet or Van Gogh's brush, yet she was China Doll small at just under 5 feet in height.

That she was small did not matter, the fragile looking Elena had a strength to her that bled from the corners of her secrets that intimidated or enthralled those who met her.

Carrie Dew was of age, 18, with smooth skin tanned by a youth in the open sun. As part of her play-acting, though, she affected handmade fangs, overly done black eye make-up, and a black dress that clung where it ought, and floated elsewhere.

Today, though, she had ventured to GothTown Tailors for an addition to her favoured dress - beautiful, black wings that attached to the sleeves with cleverly concealed velcro.

Smiling at the 3-way mirror to show her fangs and to swirl so she could revel in the new flowing and billowing of her dress, she laughed with delight!

No one could mistake her for what she she had been! She could not wait to show her delightful new threads to Cheval!

Cheval was a tall man, perhaps considered a bit thin, and not really thought of as handsome. His nose was hooked and prominent, his features were angular and often in the candle light he preferred, harsh. He had been blessed with the darkest of brown eyes, imagined to be black except by those he allowed closer to himself to see their true colour. His hair was a curtain of black that poured like ink over his shoulders.

He wore the suit of Edwardian days in black, his spats were a dark grey, his vest was embroidered grey silk, and his shirt was white untouched by even the flightiest dust. His cravat, expertly tied about his thin throat, was of the same grey silk as his spats and vest. When he walked about his 21st century town, from dusk to dawn, he would also wear a top hat of black.

He cut an odd figure in the small town where he lived, but residents had become used to the singly named Cheval. Long ago their speculation and questions had finally ended and it was quietly agreed amongst one and all to accept Cheval just as they accepted their quirky, old "Captain" whose canon thundered every morning at six as he fired it off towards the bay.

Cheval lived above his chosen town in a tall house of wood from old ships that had foundered on the beach in centuries past. A four story manse whose windows were perpetually dark during the day, but glowed with yellow, warm candle light at night in every window.

Carrie Dew skipped the first twenty old railroad tie steps to Moonlight Manse (so dubbed by the residents, not Cheval) but her breath gave out two-thirds of the way up and she was trudging, and huffing, by the time she reached the top of the stairs.

She had reached her goal, though, and received a second wind for her troubles. She pounded her fist against the door and the heavy old oak held together by rusted bands of iron, swung silently open.

A halo of light illuminated the serene Elena who nodded and curtsied graciously to Carrie.

"Hi Elly!" greeted Carrie off-handedly as she swept past the delicate woman.

Elena did not seem to mind the rebuff. In truth, there had been many such times that Carrie Dew had given her no more than a glancing thought.

Cheval met his guest not dramatically against the huge stained glass window that hung heavily over the landing that divided the grand staircase into two sets of stairs that wound their ways up to the east and west floors, but more humbly from his masculine drawing room.

Lightly Cheval took Carrie's hands, spun her once to see her new wings, then kissed each cheek.

"Come, darling, someone has waited here for you," his deep voice thrummed like thick velvet through her bones.

Carrie squealed.

Cheval just barely covered the wince as her timber scratched against his sensitive ear. He escorted Carrie, doing his best to refrain from pushing her, into his drawing room.

"Aunt Mildred?!" Carrie Dew stopped cold in her tracks.

Cheval dazzled and beguiled her, but it was her stern Aunt Mildred that truly had power over Carrie Dew. The young girl's heart sank and she was not even aware as this time Cheval did plant a hand against her back, and firmly pushed her further into the drawing room.

Aunt Mildred was a stern, ram-rod straight woman with iron-grey hair pulled into a neat chignon upon the crown of her head. Her blue eyes flashed like dangerous flint as she eyed her niece's ridiculous clothing. Smoothly, and without invitation, she approached Carrie Dew and had the lovely new wings easily removed from the sleeves of her dark costume.

Carrie Dew cried out, in shame in anger then ran. Aunt Mildred nodded to Cheval as she glided along the thick carpet to follow her niece's retreat.

"My pardon for the intrusion, Sir. Carrie won't be a-botherin' you no more."

Cheval did not reveal his disappointment, but merely smiled in understanding, and watched in silence as the old matron left his home.

Once she was gone he fell into an elegant slouch in his favourite wing-back chair. He untied the cravat and let the ends drip down either side of his white shirt and vest.

A hand, always cool in its feathery touch, stroked from his now bare neck, across his defined jaw, and over his generous lips. Elena came around from behind him to finally stand in front of him.

"My dear monster," she smiled gently, her voice like the breathless chimes upon a dry wind, caressed him. "That is the last of your human playthings. Gone. Are you so aggrieved at her leaving?"

"A little," Cheval mused as a dark glimmer danced in his deep, brown eyes. "Carrie was a pretty thing, though, was she not?" Elena's smile only deepened as she moved to perch upon his thighs. He draped one forearm over the dress of rich purple satin that spilled over her thighs as his other arm drew her side against his chest.

"Very pretty, but she was not meant to be one of us." Elena was chiding him, but her tone was gentle, sweet, indulgent even, and Cheval kissed her temple.

"The humans do fascinate me so, Love," he whispered as his lips brushed against the shell of her ear.

Elena cupped his cheek and her gaze captured his, "I know that they do, my monster, my dearest heart, but they are flighty and fragile in their thoughts." With her cupped hand she drew his face to hers and kissed his lips. "They will have their games, their costumes, and dream of what they fancy our world might be."

Elena's kiss lingered, her lips brushing and caressing Cheval's, each touch more demanding than the last until he granted her entrance. Her tongue was spice, a slow burn that touched his masculinity, but cleaved his soul.

Catching her head in both hands his kiss became hungry, insatiable: he groaned just as she purred and melted fully against him. When she broke the kiss, but not their touch, he softly mewled his protest and wrapped both arms possessively about her waist.

Lust glittered like diamonds in her eyes, and in her smile was all that she offered, had ever offered.

"Home?" she whispered and underlined her request with tiny kisses to his cheeks and forehead like small benedictions.

Cheval let out a heavy sigh. It was time. He had wasted enough energy on these endlessly fascinating yet completely unsatisfying mortals. Elena had always been here, a constant, who had never wavered in her love or desire for him; his mate. He had always known that it was Elena who would give him of herself, the life's blood she carried within her veins that was meant only for him.

Drawing her close the points of his true fangs whispered along the column of her delicate throat. As her blue vein throbbed, so did his virility and his desire for her became overwhelming. Elena cried out, not in pain, but unearthly ecstasy as Cheval's fangs pierced the tender skin of her throat. As he sucked at the blood his fingers moved aside the drapes of purple to seek out the touch of satiny thigh, and then the heat that was a furnace of passion at her center.

Satiety would be theirs as dusk was pushed aside by the sun and they retreated to a darkness far beyond the confines of earth and humanity.

It was well.

_**~Jayne d'Arcy 5-29-12 (from a dream)** _


End file.
